Nephilim 3: Three Times Sam Prayed (Or, how Spencer came to join TFW)
by SpencerRemyLvr
Summary: Three times Sam prayed to Spencer. Continued on from Nephilim 2: Old Friends and New
1. Chapter 1

When Spencer told Sam that he could pray to him for help, he honestly hadn't been sure on whether or not Sam would do it. Not just because the Winchester brothers seemed the type to not want to ask for help unless they absolutely had to, and not just because it was obvious that Dean didn't know what to think of him and didn't quite trust him, but also because Spencer had gotten to know Sam ever so slightly during that short visit at Bobby's and it was very easy to see that Sam tended to put pretty much anyone's safety above his own. Spencer could see Sam not wanting to contact him for help simply because he wouldn't want to risk Spencer having to run into Castiel or any other angel. Sam had been extremely understanding about Spencer's need to hide from angels.

With all of that, he knew it would most likely take something pretty big to get Sam to actually pray to him the first time. He was right. Only, he'd been expecting something along the lines of serious injury, either to him or to Dean. What he hadn't expected was the quietly devastated voice, thick with grief.

Spencer was barely home from work, had only had enough time to put away his weapon and change into lounge clothes, when the soft prayer came through.

_"__Spencer? I, ah, I don't really know how this works, if you're actually getting this. You said all I had to do was say your name and direct it to you, so, here's hoping. I don't know if you're busy right now or what, but if you're not, I could…I could really use someone to talk to right now._"

There was no hesitation in Spencer to respond to that. One second he was standing in the living room of his apartment and the next he was standing in the living room area of the latest Winchester motel-of-the-week. He even still held his cup of tea in his hand. He found Sam sitting on the couch, arms tucked in to rest on his stomach and his head turned towards the window, eyes staring sightlessly. It gave Spencer a second to just look him over. There were stress lines at the corners of Sam's eyes and a furrow between his eyebrows. His eyes carried the slight bruising of not enough sleep and his lips were curved down. More telling was the way he was slightly curled in, long legs up on the couch with his knees somewhat close to his chest like he was trying to curl in on himself a bit, and his shoulders were tucked forward and down as if they carried a great weight. Spencer read body language for a living and everything about Sam's was screaming grief, pain, and even anger.

Spencer wasn't sure what it was that gave him away but suddenly Sam was blinking his eyes clear and turning his head towards Spencer. He only startled a little bit when he found Spencer standing there. "You came." He said the words with just the faintest hint of surprise.

Any other time and Spencer might've taken slight offense to that. After all, he'd said he'd come if called, hadn't he? But he couldn't bring himself to be mad right now. "You called."

"I didn't mean to take you away from anything important. You look like you're getting ready for bed."

That brought Spencer's attention to the fact that he hadn't bothered to change his clothes before he flew out here. He'd heard Sam's prayer and just reacted. Looking down now, he saw he was still dressed in his house slippers, plaid pajama pants and the oversized Caltech sweater he'd had since his second year at college. It was comfortable, lounge around the house clothes, perfect for an evening spent with a really good book. Not exactly the best clothes to go out visiting in, though. A hint of color crept into Spencer's cheeks. "I wasn't. The most you interrupted was a night with a good book. I'm not worried about that. I can read anytime, anywhere. You said you needed to talk and that's much more important." Something caught Spencer's eye and he paused mid speech. It was just a small movement on Sam's part as the hunter turned a little more towards him. However, it was enough to pull up the edge of Sam's sleeve and show the hint of bandages underneath. His eyes snapped up to Sam's face in just enough time to see his eyes tighten from pain. Immediately Spencer started forward, setting his mug down on the coffee table and folding himself onto the couch at Sam's side. "You're hurt."

"What?" Sam looked confused for just a split second. Then his expression cleared and he looked down at his arms. "Oh. Yeah. We ran into a couple of ghouls the other day. That's, actually…that's part of what I wanted to, to talk to you about."

"May I see?"

It took Sam and Spencer both to get Sam's arms stretched out just right and both of the sleeves pushed up. Mostly because Spencer, upon seeing just how much it bothered Sam to move, basically took over and kept Sam's arms still while he did the work. His hands were gentle as he unwound the bandages over first one arm, then the other. The sight of what he found was enough to have him grimacing in sympathy. The gashes that covered Sam's forearms had been well stitched up but they no doubt had to be hurting like crazy. Every move probably pulled at the stitches and only made the ache worse. "Sam," Shaking his head, Spencer kept a loose grip on Sam's wrists and cast him a chiding look. "I told you to pray to me if you needed _anything_. Having your arms cut up by—ghouls, was it? That qualifies in the 'anything' category."

The caring in his voice seemed to make Sam slightly uncomfortable. The sarcasm at the end, though, worked to set him at ease once more, and Spencer filed that little fact away. "I didn't think about it." Sam admitted almost sheepishly.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer shifted his grip off of Sam's wrists and moved his hands to hover just a hair overtop the injuries. Grace flowed between them with a soft glow. When it faded, the injuries faded with it, leaving only smooth skin and loose stitches behind. "There." He brushed away the thread until Sam's arms were clear. Drawing his hands back, he smiled. "See? Simple."

"Thank you." Sam said honestly. He lifted his arms, twisting them and making fists, testing them out.

Spencer picked up his mug off the coffee table and settled himself back into the corner of the couch. "I told you, it's no problem." He brought his mug up and took a sip off it, humming happily at the flavor. "So. You ran into a couple of ghouls, then? They don't typically go for live victims." He kept his voice at the same relaxed, casual tone, sensing that he might get better answers that way. Sam wanted to talk about this; calling Spencer had showed that. But it was obvious this wasn't an easy topic, whatever it was. No need to make it any harder on him.

Even with his calm tone, though, Sam still tensed. "Yeah. Ah, this case was a little, um, _different_."

Watching him, Spencer debated for a second. Then he waved one hand and a bottle of his best bourbon and two glasses appeared on the table at the same time that his mug of tea vanished. At Sam's surprised look, he smiled. "Something tells me this story calls for a little something stronger than the tea I had." He leaned forward and unscrewed the lid on the bottle, filling both glasses. "This is a bottle of my best bourbon I keep at home." He set the bottle back down and took one glass, handing the other one over to Sam, who was looking at him with a cross between amusement and disbelief. The amusement seemed to be winning. Good. Spencer curled his knees up, bringing his feet onto the couch, and turned so he was better facing Sam. "Okay. So what was so different about this case?"

There was a moment of quiet while Sam looked down at the contents of his glass. "I found out I have a brother." He finally blurted out.

Woah. Okay, that hadn't been what Spencer was expecting to hear. He kept his expression controlled, reminding himself that Sam hadn't seemed to respond well to open, blatant concern, reacting better to the sarcasm and humor. He tried it again now, hoping he was playing this right. "I feel safe in assuming that you're _not_ referring to Dean."

The laugh he got had him relaxing a little. Yeah, he'd played it right. Sam looked a little less tense when he smiled up at Spencer, showing a brief flash of dimple. "Yeah."

"Where is Dean, by the way? Out to get dinner?"

"The bar." Sam said, eyes darting away and smile fading.

Ah, yes, because that was where everyone should be when they've got someone to care for who couldn't move their arms without wincing in pain. Spencer kept that nasty little thought inside, knowing it would do no good to say it. _Besides, I don't know the whole story yet. This case could've been just as hard on him as it was on Sam._ He gave himself that firm reminder and held his tongue. He gave Sam the same courtesy that Sam had once given him, staying silent and allowing the man to gather his thoughts and speak when he was ready. It didn't take long.

"We got a call on Dad's old phone the other day…" Sam began. He didn't look at Spencer the entire time that he spoke. His eyes stayed on the far wall while he told Spencer about getting the call from a young man named Adam who claimed to be John Winchester's son. He spoke of going out there and meeting him, of how Dean had been sure it was a trick or a trap, only Adam had passed every single test they put forward. Then he spoke about Adam's missing mother, about going out to the house and looking around, and about the pictures they'd found there. Sam had to pause there for a moment to gain his composure. He emptied what was in his glass and Spencer silently leaned forward to refill it for him.

Spencer kept perfectly silent as Sam told the rest of his story. Finding the mother's remains in the vents, trying to hunt down what took her, the arguments with Dean and the decision to train Adam in the life despite his older brother's protests. Then…then he told Spencer about the end. About Adam's mother coming back while Dean was gone—and about discovering that Adam and his mother were nothing more than ghouls. Ghouls who had wanted revenge from a case John had worked all those years ago during which their parent had been killed. So they bided their time and finally got revenge on those they blamed. Adam, Adam's mother, the cop who'd worked the case at the time, and then they'd hoped for John only to find out that he was already dead, and so they'd settled for his sons instead. Sam's voice only quavered once when he spoke of being tied to the table and cut so that they could _feed_ off him while he was still alive. But his voice firmed again when he told of Dean coming in. Of Dean rescuing him, cutting him free, patching up his arms. And there was a faint hint of pride when he told Spencer how Dean had insisted on giving Adam a proper hunter's funeral.

By the time the story was done, Sam was well on his way to drunk. Spencer had lost count of how many times he'd refilled his glass for him. He knew that sometimes a little alcohol could be just the therapy a person needed. Something to loosen the inhibitions that usually prevented a person from feeling or grieving properly. And it sounded to him like that was just what Sam needed—to grieve.

"I really liked the idea of having another brother." Sam sighed, looking down at his half empty glass with a mournful look. "I mean, I know I don't exactly do a great job looking out for Dean. But I thought maybe I could with Adam, y'know? Like, maybe I could give him a bit of what Dean gives me. Be that big bro."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Spencer said softly.

Sam huffed and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Can't even be a good _little _brother. I probably would've sucked at being a _big_ brother." Lifting his glass, he downed what was left.

"I'm sure you would've been a fantastic big brother." Spencer reassured him. He could see that his words didn't quite click, though. They didn't mean as much coming from him. No, words like those needed to come from someone else and that someone else wasn't here right now. Spencer couldn't make that part of things better for Sam.

"Yeah, well, guess it doesn't matter in the end, does it?"

"Sam, there's no shame in grieving." Spencer gentled his voice and put just a little grace in it to try to give his words the strength needed to maybe reach this man. "You lost a brother. Granted, the brother you got to know was a ghoul in disguise, but Adam as a person still existed, and you have every right to grieve his loss. There's no shame in it."

He wasn't sure how Sam would take his words. They were still new to their friendship, still learning the right and wrong ways of talking to one another. Spencer knew that generally he wasn't the most socially appropriate person. He was too blunt at times. Tactless, even, without ever intending to be. He didn't always recognize when he needed to back off a subject and let something go until it was too late and he'd already upset or hurt the person he was talking to. There'd been no need to worry about those kinds of things when growing up. Friends had been a rarity and neither his mother nor his true father had ever worried at all about his bluntness. If anything, he was more open with his true father than with anyone else, ever. It was kind of hard not to be open and honest when you spent your time with someone who could read the thoughts straight out of your mind if you didn't shield properly. Years at the Bureau had helped Spencer refine the socialization skills he'd missed out on during his childhood and teen years, but only by so much. It had been JJ, really, who'd helped that along. She'd helped teach him what signs he needed to look for, little tells that all of his profiling hadn't taught him.

He watched now and carefully read Sam's face and body language. When he saw a bit of the tension melt away, he almost sighed in relief. Blue-green eyes flashed up through shaggy bangs and a small smile curved the hunter's lips. "Thanks, Spencer."

"You're welcome." Smiling, Spencer lifted his glass, holding it out towards Sam. "To Adam."

Sam's answering smile was wide as he lifted his own glass. "To Adam."

* * *

><p>Two hours and the rest of the bottle later, Spencer was carefully helping Sam into his bed. The hunter was on the last legs of consciousness. Spencer doubted he'd stay awake longer than a minute once his head hit the pillow. It took a bit of tricky maneuvering to get him there. Once he did, though, Sam proved him right. Spencer had barely let go of him before he heard the first snore. He gave a fond shake of his head. Well, the night might not have started off the best for Sam, but it seemed to have ended well. Once they'd really gotten to drinking, it had been easy to get Sam to start talking about happier things. To share stories that made him smile and laugh. In turn, Spencer had shared a few stories of his own. Ones that were deliberately cheerful. Maybe it wasn't much, but giving the man a night of smiles and laughter would hopefully ease the ache in him just a little bit. Even if it did leave him passing-out-drunk.<p>

Thankfully, Spencer's physiology gave him a much higher tolerance for alcohol. He could've drunk the entire bottle himself without being drunk.

He was just bending to straighten Sam's legs onto the bed when he heard a key in the lock. He barely glanced up as the door opened. No need; he knew who it was. Just as he knew what kind of reaction he was going to get. Sure enough, out of the corner of his eye Spencer saw Dean freeze just steps into the room. Before the man could freak out at the sight of his unconscious brother, Spencer called out "Don't worry, he's not hurt. He just passed out."

"Oh, is that all?" Dean growled. The door shut with a snap and the hunter moved quickly into the room, straight to the head of the bed. He went right to Sam's head, brushing hair back from his face and checking his neck for a pulse, all in one move. Satisfied with what he found, he shot a sharp look down to Spencer, who was now squatting down by the foot of the bed. "What the hell did you do to him? Better yet, what the hell are you doing here?"

Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Reaching out, he caught hold of Sam's left foot and started to untie the laces of his shoe. It took effort but he kept his voice calm. "I'm here because your brother asked me here. As for what I did to him, I'd think that'd be obvious, considering you've been doing the same the past few hours." He paused and lifted his head just enough to send a sharp look Dean's way. "He's just had too much to drink, Winchester. I thought you'd be familiar enough with the sensation to recognize it."

"You got him drunk?"

Spencer tipped his head just enough to look at Dean with one eyebrow cocked. Considering where Dean had just been, that question seemed a bit hypocritical and Spencer's look clearly showed that. He held it as Dean dropped his gaze and cleared his throat, obviously getting the message that Spencer was sending. Satisfied, Spencer turned back to his task, nimble fingers quickly undoing the laces of Sam's other shoe. "He should sleep through the night." He said, keeping his voice neutral. "Come morning, he shouldn't have too bad of a hangover. He'll need to eat, though."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see as Dean's body tensed once more at the perceived insult. "I know how to take care of my brother. I've been doing it my whole life."

"I'm not the one that seems to have forgotten that." Spencer said pointedly. Setting Sam's shoes alongside the bed, Spencer put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up straight. He met Dean's gaze head on and read the grief and anger lurking in there. It reminded him that Sam wasn't the only one going through something difficult right now. Both Winchesters had been hurt by recent events. Spencer changed the words he'd been planning on saying, his tone softening ever so slightly. "Take care of each other, Winchester. At the end of the day, you're all each other has. Don't let everything else make you lose sight of that."

Before Dean could say a word, Spencer was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_I hope this came out okay. It's more difficult than I thought to write those emotions without going overboard :P Thanks, everyone, for showing your interest so far. Your reviews are wonderful and they really help me keep going! :) Just one chapter left of this installment and I'm hoping to have it up in a day or two!_

* * *

><p>The next week passed with absolutely no contact from Sam at all. Part of Spencer took that as a good sign. No prayers meant no trouble, right? But the bigger part of him worried on it. He knew things weren't going well with the brothers. He knew there was something going on, something serious. Sam was messing around with some dangerous things. The demon blood that Spencer had seen on Sam's soul the first time they'd met had been much stronger, the hold even deeper, on his last visit. His soul still shone so brightly, but it was slowly being stained, the dark leeching on to it. With everything he had Spencer wanted to help clean that stain away and keep Sam from going down whatever dark road he was traveling. But he didn't know the man well enough yet to bring up something like that. He didn't know him and he didn't know the facts enough. Oh, sure, he knew bits and pieces, things that he'd heard and put together from the little time he'd known Sam, the few things that Bobby had let slip, general word of mouth, and, of course, the Supernatural books. Those were a treasure trove of information that Spencer had devoured in one single afternoon.<p>

There was no point in asking his father, either .Spencer knew better than to try and talk with him about what was currently going on. Besides which, he doubted it would go over very well if his father found out just who he was spending his time with. No, that was definitely not an option.

By the end of the week, Spencer was contemplating searching Sam out on his own, just to check on him. He never got the chance. The morning that he planned on doing it, JJ called the team in for a case, advising them not to bring a go-bag, and Spencer headed into work, telling himself he'd get a hold of Sam after the case was over. He had no idea that by then it'd be too late.

* * *

><p>How could one day so quickly and so completely go to hell? Things had been on a steady decline since Spencer had gotten to work this morning, only to find the military already there. No day could start out good with something like that. Then, finding out that they were dealing with an <em>anthrax scare<em>, well, that just made it worse. But Spencer had worked the case just like he was supposed to. He'd gone to the hospital as Aaron had asked, looked at the patients and spoke with Dr. Kimura. He did his job and worked the case with the faith that he and his team would do everything they could to help find out who did this and take them down. Then, with one _stupid_ move, it all went to hell.

Spencer stood now in a room that held both disease and cure. The bottle of white powder on the floor taunted him for his foolishness, mocking the stupidity of coming into this room without taking proper precautions. He never should've just raced inside. Not when he knew the house was still being checked for any signs of an anthrax lab. But he'd gone near the door and he'd seen the body on the ground and the blood and he'd just raced inside like an absolute idiot. By the time he'd realized his mistake, it was too late. He'd only had enough time to get up and slam the door shut before Derek was there. The look of horror on his friend's face as Spencer flipped the lock into place was one he'd never forget.

Something told Spencer that this was one time that his unique genetics weren't going to be any help. He was harder to hurt than the average human, capable of taking one hell of a beating without too much damage, and he definitely healed faster than a human did, but he didn't have angelic immunity to disease. Especially not a strain of anthrax that had been weaponized the way that this one had. It struck too hard, too fast, attacking at his body even as his grace was trying to heal it in a war that was already exhausting him. For the first time in his life, Spencer wasn't sure which part would win. Would his grace be enough?

One prayer. That was all it would take, Spencer knew. Since he'd learned how to shield so well, his father couldn't watch (spy) on him as easily as he once had. One prayer, though, and he would come.

But Spencer didn't do it. Even knowing how much risk he was putting himself at here, and how furious his father would be if he found out, he didn't pray to him. Instead, he stayed in that room and he did his job. He worked the case. With Derek's help through the phone, Spencer profiled the room, helped profile their Unsub, and worked to try and help find where Dr. Nichols had hidden the curse for this strain somewhere in this lab. He worked until the very last second and hoped with everything he had that it would be enough.

* * *

><p>Spencer was floating, drifting, the drugs and the pain keeping his mind slow and the world weak around him. There was pain, so much pain, dark and cold and confining. It wrapped around him, smothered him, until he was panting for air.<p>

One voice broke through the pain.

_"__You stubborn, foolish, pig-headed child."_

Somewhere in his mind he thought that maybe that insulting voice should be familiar. It was lost, though, under the need to just breathe. Distantly, he felt the oxygen mask on his face, trying to help him breathe even as he coughed and wheezed. His lungs felt like they were being ripped by razors with each gasping breath. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt! Mercy, he couldn't breathe.

_"__Shh, shh. It's okay. I know it hurts."_

_Help me, please_! He would've begged if he could've gathered the breath for it. A pained whimper slipped free instead.

Gentle fingers ghosted over his face and Spencer almost sobbed at the sweet relief that came. Something cool and oh-so-familiar rushed through him and the haze over Spencer's mind cleared enough for him to recognize that feeling. It was the touch of countless dreams in his childhood. The presence that had been playmate, confidant, teacher, friend, everything a child could ever want. The one that Spencer had known in his heart, even before he grew older and was finally told the truth, was his real father. As soon as it registered, Spencer welcomed the light of his grace in, letting it flood through him

"_When you're better, we're going to discuss this tendency you have to just _forget_to call me when you need me. I'm not going to lose you just because you're stubborn._"

Spencer gave a soft hum, body and grace.

A low chuckle filled his ears and danced along the grace that still ran through him. "_I healed enough that you're out of danger, but left enough for the human medicine to heal so your cover here is still intact. You're gonna be okay. Just rest now, little fox. When you wake up, things will be better. Sleep, beautiful boy."_

Warmed with his father's grace, safe here at the hospital, Spencer slept.

* * *

><p>The first time that Spencer really woke, was actually conscious instead of just drifting in a haze, his body was still under the influence of the medications he'd been given and the residual healing grace that his father had left behind. He still felt a bit off, a bit wobbly, but he put that down as normal considering the circumstances. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on what Derek and Dr. Kimura were telling him. Hearing that the other patients had survived as well helped to boost his spirits. But that off feeling stuck around and nagged at the back of Spencer's mind while he listened to her talk. He didn't realize how much it was showing. It must've been pretty obvious on his face, because as soon as Dr. Kimura was gone, Derek settled on the edge of Spencer's bed and fixed him with a firm look. "Okay, kid. What's eating at you?"<p>

"What?" Spencer furrowed his brow, lost for a moment as to what his friend was talking about.

"You've got that look on your face." Lifting a hand, Derek pointed and swirled his finger in a gesture meant to encompass Spencer's expression.

Bemused, Spencer tipped his head to the side. "You'll have to be more articulate than that, Morgan. I can't see my own face. What look am I wearing?"

Derek snorted at him, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a small smirk. "Smart ass. It's your 'something's wrong' look. You get it when you've got a puzzle that isn't falling into place. It's sort of this, frustrated, constipated kind of look, with just a bit of annoyance mixed in for good measure."

That description had Spencer letting out a laugh before he could stop himself. The laugh almost immediately turned into a cough and it took a few minutes, a bit of hand holding that neither man would admit to later, and a glass of water before Spencer could breathe once more. He lay back on the bed and cast a wry look at his friend, choosing to act as if the whole coughing fit hadn't happened. The only remaining signs of it were a bit of red to his cheeks and a slightly hoarse quality to his words. "As always, you're so eloquent, Morgan."

"What can I say? It's a talent. Almost as good as your talent at trying to evade a subject."

Sometimes it could be a pain in the ass working with people who were trained in human behavior and how to read body language. It made it difficult to keep things from them. Right now, Spencer was too tired to have his usual masks in place. He was still feeling a bit open and too tired to really keep himself as hidden as usual. Most of his energy was turned inwards, trying to maintain the shields that kept him hidden while at the same time his grace was trying to heal what little was left from the anthrax attack on his system. It didn't leave much energy for anything else.

He was going to have to give Derek some kind of answer. However, this might be one of those moments where a bit of truth would serve him better than any lie he might make up. "I'm just feeling off kilter, that's all." Spencer cleared his throat to try and chase away that itch that sat at the back of it. "I've just got this, off feeling. Like there's something I'm missing. Something not quite right. I don't know."

"Your brain's probably just trying to catch up with everything." Derek said reassuringly. "You missed the whole ending of everything and then just got it pretty much dumped right on you the minute you woke up by me and Dr. Kimura. Even a genius like you needs a bit to process things, especially with all the shit you've been through and the meds in your system."

"Yeah, maybe." He didn't think that was it at all, but it was an easy enough answer. One that would explain things away so Derek wouldn't continue to bother him about it. But inside, Spencer just knew it was something else. Something more. And whatever it was, it felt big. He just didn't have the energy to figure it out right now. Already his body was slumping down into the bed a little more and he found himself yawning.

Chuckling, Derek patted his arm. "Give yourself a break, kid. You've had a rough time here. You heard Dr. Kimura before. You're okay now, but your body needs to rest and recover. A few days of relaxing here and then some time at home before you even start to think about coming back to work. You've probably got at _least_ a week of rest time before Hotch will let you back, even for just desk duty."

"I'll be…" A yawn cut in, so big it made his eyes water. "…fine. Just need a few days."

"Uh huh." Amusement colored Derek's words.

Spencer would've argued more, but his eyes were getting heavy and after a long blink, they were just too heavy to bother trying to open again. He was asleep before he even knew what hit him.

* * *

><p>The next time that Spencer woke wasn't much better. He was still pretty out of it, his body aching and craving more sleep. This time, at least, he made a point of staying awake long enough to make sure that he wasn't being given any narcotics—Derek had already taken care of that for him, it appeared, and Spencer was warmed by his friend's caring—and to tell them to lower the amount of pain meds. He hated how groggy they made him feel. Better a bit of pain than to constantly feel like he was swimming through mud. Besides, he was already healing quite a bit more than any of the others here, though the doctors hadn't noticed that yet. Spencer's grace was repairing the damage to his body and his lungs little by little. His healing was the same as if he'd been here for a few days instead of just one.<p>

What woke him the next time wasn't one of the nursing staff, wasn't the sound of the machines that were starting to drive him crazy, nor was it one of the team coming in to check on him. What woke him this time was a voice that lit up in the back of his mind. A prayer, heavy with guilt and grief. _Sam_.

"_Hey, Spencer, it's me again. I don't know if you're getting this. I don't know if you've gotten any of my prayers the past few days. You haven't responded to them and, well, I know you have no reason to, not after everything. I understand completely. Hell, I don't even know if you're listening to me anymore. I doubt anyone else is."_

Spencer kept his eyes closed, his whole being focused on this prayer, even as he wondered what the hell was going on here. What on earth was Sam talking about? What had happened that made him think that Spencer wouldn't respond to him? It sounded like he'd prayed recently and Spencer hadn't answered—most likely unconscious at the time—but didn't Sam realize that he wouldn't ignore him? That, if he didn't answer, it had to be for a reason? Spencer pushed those questions aside as Sam's prayer continued.

"_If it was just for me, I wouldn't bother asking. I know I have no right asking for anything anymore. But this isn't for me. This is for Bobby."_

That was enough to have Spencer even more on alert. His whole body tensed. What happened to Bobby? The answer came quick enough and Spencer listened to each word with a growing sense of horror.

"_I know you care about him, Spencer, and right now I think you're the only person that can help him. He didn't want me calling to you. He says it's too risky to ask you for help. But, I can't just let it go. It's Bobby, you know? He's like a father to us. And he wouldn't be in this position if it wasn't for me. See, Bobby was…he got possessed. And he managed to get back control before the demon could make him kill Dean, but he…shit, Spencer, he stabbed himself with the demon killing knife and we're damn lucky he survived, but his legs…he's paralyzed. Cas can't heal him, either. After killing some of his brothers to help Dean, he's been cut off from the home office and he doesn't have the juice for a healing like this. I don't know who else to ask. I know I'm at the bottom of everyone's list right now. I don't expect anyone to want to help the guy who set the devil free. But please, if you could come, for Bobby's sake. Please. We're at his house._"

The prayer trailed off then with only a whispered "_Amen_" to signal its end. It left Spencer frozen in his bed, reeling with everything that had just been tossed his way. All at once the feeling of 'wrongness' that he'd been wondering about made perfect sense. Lucifer was free. _Lucifer was free_. Apparently the seals had finally been broken and the devil walked the earth. From the sounds of it, Sam had something to do with it, too. The guilt and self-hatred that had come through with that told him that, whatever had happened, there had to be a hell of a lot more to the story than there seemed.

The panic at the thought of the devil being free was pushed aside for the panic of the rest of it. Bobby was _paralyzed_. Had been possessed, managed to gain control, _stabbed himself_, and was now paralyzed. And for some idiotic reason, he hadn't wanted them to call Spencer for help!

There was no real need for Spencer to think about what to do. His body was moving even before his mind caught up. With quick, steady fingers, he removed nasal cannula, the heart monitor, and the IV. Then he was bracing himself on his bed and pulling his aching body upright. It was almost embarrassing just how much effort it took to sit up and stay sitting up. Determination went a long way, though. He got his legs off the edge of the bed and was just preparing to stand when the door opened and the nurse rushed in, most likely in response to the removal of his monitors. Spencer absently noted just how long it had taken someone to come check after he'd removed the monitor for his heart.

"Dr. Reid!" The nurse, a young woman who looked like she was probably rather new to the job, rushed over towards him. "What are you doing? You need to lie back down. Dr. Kimura gave strict orders that you weren't to try getting up without help until tomorrow."

Instead of letting her lay him back down, Spencer used her grip on his arm to help him straighten up, bracing himself so that he wouldn't sink to the ground. The woman was good at her job and immediately switched her hold to better keep him on his feet. Once he was steady, he started towards the bathroom where he knew JJ had put a bag of his things for him earlier so he'd be ready when it came time to go home. She probably hadn't counted on it happening so quickly. As he walked, he called back to the nurse "I need the paperwork prepared so I can sign out AMA."

"Dr. Reid, please, I have to advise against that. You need to be here so your body has more time to recover."

"Am I contagious?" Spencer called back as he stepped into the bathroom.

She hesitated, the both of them knowing the answer to his question. "Well, no." She said reluctantly.

"Am I in danger of dying?"

"No, your body is recovering well. But Dr. Reid…"

"I'm well aware of my health." Spencer cut in as he grabbed his bag and pulled it onto the bathroom counter. He moved over to the door, leaning out briefly to catch the woman's eye. "I understand the risks far better than most and I accept full responsibility for them. Now, if you wouldn't mind, please, I'm in a hurry. I'll be out momentarily to sign the paperwork." And with that, he gently yet firmly shut the bathroom door, cutting off any reply she might've given.

Fifteen minutes later, Spencer was signed out and on his way, his bag in hand, his wings already itching to spread and take him to Bobby's. He managed to hold back enough to find a secluded bathroom on the ground floor of the hospital. There was one person in there and Spencer stepped into the handicapped stall to avoid them. Once there, a wave of his hand sent his bag back to his apartment, and then he waited only long enough to hear the other man in here finish washing his hands and leave. The minute the door shut, Spencer was gone.

* * *

><p>This time Spencer was smart enough to check the house before he flew right in. Bobby was there, his presence tucked in his bedroom, and there were no angels in sight. With that reassurance, Spencer landed right in the living room. What he hadn't expected was to find Dean Winchester standing nearby in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and drinking a beer. No one else was in sight. For a brief second, the hunter didn't notice him, just continued to stare sightlessly off at the wall. Everything about him just screamed out exhaustion that went deeper even than the one that was tugging at Spencer. Dean's posture was almost defeated, like someone who was just so damn tired of fighting. It reached out to Spencer and had him wanting to reach back. To offer something, words or gesture, to ease the pain that was written across the hunter's face.<p>

Then something caught Dean's attention, some instinct alerted him that he wasn't alone, and he lifted his head until his eyes found Spencer. Like a flash any signs of vulnerability were gone. In their place were a hardness and anger that hadn't been so strong the last time Spencer had seen the man. There were lines around his eyes and a coldness to his stare that hadn't been there a week ago.

When he spoke, his voice was harsh and angry, yet low enough to not disturb anyone nearby. "Well look who finally decided to show up."

Spencer was having trouble switching gears as quickly. Most of him was so intently focused on getting to Bobby, and then afterwards to Sam, while another part was still wanting to reach out to the man he'd seen hurting just seconds ago. It left him off kilter and he couldn't quite seem to find his words right away.

He took too long trying to find his words and lost his chance. Dean set his beer bottle down on the counter and took an angry step forward, glaring at him. "Where the hell have you been?" The hunter growled furiously at him, throwing Spencer off even more by the sheer amount of rage packed into those words. Dean took another step forward. "I thought you were supposed to be looking out for Sam! Real great job you're doing there. I've heard him pray to you these past few days. For some stupid reason he thought you might actually respond like you said you would."

That had Spencer flinching. "It's been a rough few days." It was a lame excuse, he knew, and the worst possible thing he could've said. He realized that part the instant the words were out of his mouth.

The fury in Dean's eyes sparked even brighter. "Rough? You want to talk about _rough_? You told Sam he could count on you and the first time he really needs you, you bailed on him, just like every other douche bag angel. But I thought you'd at least care about Bobby." Spreading his hands, Dean scoffed mockingly. "He gave me that speech about what a _great friend_ you are for him. Not great enough to come visit the man when he's in the hospital, though. Not enough to be there to try and help heal the man who's steadily sinking into depression because, oh yeah, _he can't walk_. Yeah, I can see what a great freaking friend you are."

"Screw you, Winchester." Spencer snapped. There wasn't much heat to it, though. Dean's words were only echoing the things that Spencer was already thinking. Guilt was like a hard knot in his stomach. He _should've_ been there. He should've been helping Sam. He should've been there for Bobby.

"No, screw you." Dean shot right back. He stepped right up in front of Spencer, too pissed to think about the fact that the being he was snapping at could lift him and throw him back with just a _thought_. He got right in Spencer's face and glared. "You're the one who talked all about helping Sam and being a damn friend. Well where were you when Sam was running out on us? Where were you when Ruby was pumping him full of that bitch-blood? Huh? Where the hell were you when he was killing Lilith and setting freaking Lucifer free? Where were you when Bobby got possessed and _stabbed himself_ and had to be in the hospital? Huh? Where were you then?"

Spencer's own temper was pushing up and combing with his guilt to make a nauseating mixture that rolled around in his already upset stomach. With every word that Dean shouted at him, Spencer flinched, his guilt growing more and more. "It doesn't matter where I was." He said defensively. "I'm here now."

"If you think for one damn minute I'm letting you anywhere near them, you're insane." Dean snarled, leaning in until their noses were inches apart.

An answering snarl rose to Spencer's lips. He'd had about enough of this. "And if you think that you have any say in it whatsoever, then you're the insane one." Before his temper could fray any further, Spencer spun and made to step away.

A hand caught his arm. "Just a damn minute…"

Spencer stopped, though he could've easily jerked his arm free. Turning, he glared down at Dean's hand on his arm, then up at his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but –

"What the hell is going on out here?"

– a familiar gruff voice cut through the air with the sharpness of a knife. Spencer's head shot up, eyes immediately finding Bobby. The older hunter sat in his wheelchair in the middle of his living room. How on earth he'd managed to creep up on them without being noticed was amazing. It said a lot to Spencer about just how tired his body still was. However, that wasn't what was important right now. What was important was his old friend and the chair he was sitting in.

Bobby scowled at the both of them and rolled his chair forward. "Dean, quit being an idiot and let him go before he decides to get free. Or did you forget the last time ya pissed him off? An you, mutt, quit picking a fight with the boy and go grab me a beer. Unless you two wanna continue your little pissing match, in which case take it outside. I don't need to be cleaning up no messes in here."

"What's going on in here?" Sam's voice came from the direction of the stairs. A second later he was in the room as well and his eyes found Spencer, widening with surprise. "Spencer."

Any other time and Spencer would've turned to greet Sam. He would've responded to the surprise in his voice and given the man a smile and a greeting. But not right now. Right now, all of Spencer's attention was focused on Bobby. He didn't even bother moving towards the fridge to get the older hunter his beer. To do so would've required moving away and Spencer wasn't sure he could make his feet work right then. He simply waved a hand and a bottle of Bobby's favorite beer appeared in his hand already open. Bobby, well used to that from many moments over the years, didn't even startle at it. He just snorted and lifted the bottle to take a drink.

Spencer registered Dean letting go of him and taking a step back. He even distantly heard the two brothers talking to one another. None of it mattered. Who cared what they were talking—arguing, judging by the angry tones he caught—about back there? Spencer ran his eyes over Bobby's wheelchair, over his legs and up to his face to find that Bobby was watching him just as intently. It was the meeting of their eyes that finally triggered Spencer's voice. And all he could think to say was "Oh, Singer, why didn't you call me?"

"Cause there aint nothing you can do." Bobby said simply.

His words floored Spencer. They were the very last thing he'd thought he'd hear. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he could find his words. "Nothing I can do?" he repeated back dumbly. "What on earth are you talking about, Singer? Of course there's something I can do! Granted, it would've been easier while you were still at the hospital, but it doesn't make it impossible now."

There was a moment where it looked like pain flashed in Bobby's eyes. It was there and gone again so fast that Spencer could barely tell, quickly replaced with that familiar Bobby Singer stubbornness. "You and I both know that you heal me, it'd be like lighting up a big 'ol beacon saying 'Here I am!' to the dicks upstairs. That's the last thing you need."

"_I don't care_." Spencer hissed at him.

"It aint worth it, kid. You've hidden all these years. I'm not having you give that up just for an old man's legs."

"It's worth it to me!" Spencer shot back. He lifted a hand and pointed a finger at him. "I owe you a debt, Robert Singer. I owe you _my life_. If you won't let me help you as a friend, let me try to repay that debt."

He hadn't really thought that would work. The two times in their friendship that Spencer had brought up that debt, Bobby had waved it off like it was nothing, denying its existence. He did the exact same thing now. "You don't owe me nothing, Spencer. Especially not this. I told you, it aint worth the risk. I'd rather be without these damn legs than have you dead just so I can walk again."

Why on earth did he have to be so damn _stubborn_? Spencer spun, pacing away from him, not trusting himself right then. His grace was straining against his skin with the urge to just reach out and heal the injured man no matter what he had to say about it. The logical part of Spencer's brain knew that Bobby was right. If he healed him, it would the same as sending up a large beacon to angels all over. He'd blow his cover in an instant. They wouldn't know who he was, of course. But they'd know that there was a nephilim on earth. His grace was different than a regular angel's. It was twined together with his soul. That was part of what made it so powerful, his Father had told him. Angel grace and human soul put together was a dangerously powerful combination.

It was also easily recognizable if he used those powers for something as big as healing Bobby. Reaching down into Sam's soul had been a big healing, but that had been fighting spell work, taking out something foreign that didn't belong. Healing damage like this, something so serious it was preventing a man from _walking_, it was a miracle and miracles are noticed.

Spencer ran a hand through his hair and fought back the urge to growl. He settled instead for glaring once more at his friend. "You are the most stubborn, pig-headed _Neandertal _that I have ever known, Robert Singer. I should've known you'd pull something foolish like this. I don't know why I even bothered asking first. I should've flown straight to your bedroom and healed you in your sleep."

The threat only served to make Bobby snort at him. "Yeah, right. You can't do it without my permission."

"I _could_." Spencer corrected, arching an eyebrow at him.

A small nod conceded the point. "But you won't." Bobby said it like it was fact.

Some of the fight drained out of him. Spencer sighed and his shoulders slumped. "No, I won't. Damn you."

"Wait a second. Just wait a second." Dean called out. He stepped up from where he and Sam had ended up leaning against the counter, watching their whole conversation. Honestly, it amazed Spencer that they'd kept quiet over there for so long. That was obviously at an end. Dean was almost vibrating with whatever he was planning on saying. His eyes ran over Spencer and then fixed on Bobby with a look that was a whole lot gentler. "Bobby, man, if he can fix you…"

"It aint up for debate." Bobby said firmly. "I aint putting him at risk."

"What risk? What is all this risk you keep talking about?" Dean turned towards Spencer now, gaze sharpening again. "Are you like, on the run from Heaven or something? Not that I'd blame you from hiding from those dicks."

The implications of Dean's question had Spencer honestly surprised. He looked over to Sam and then over to Bobby. "You guys didn't tell him?" He'd been so sure they'd explain it to Dean. Had expected it, really. Though Spencer had never come right out to Dean and admitted to being nephilim when they met, he'd assumed that Sam had told him afterwards, once they were gone. Apparently he was wrong.

Sam looked away guiltily, but Bobby had no such problems. He scoffed at them and shook his head. "I told Sam to hold off till we were sure you'd take it calmly." He told Dean, though his eyes cut to Spencer to include him too. "So don't go blaming him. Everyone was already up in arms about shit and I thought it better to let cooler heads win out first."

"Tell me what?" Dean growled.

"I'm not an angel." Spencer said quickly, cutting off anything else that might've been said and effectively drawing Dean's eyes—and his temper—right back to Spencer. He waited until green eyes snapped to him and then shrugged one shoulder. "At least, not fully. I'm half angel."

To his surprise, Dean's eyes went wide. "You're a nephilim? Aren't those, like, forbidden?"

"You know what a nephilim is?" Sam interjected.

Dean cast a scowl his direction. "You're not the only one that knows how to read. When we got involved with all this angel business, I brushed up on some of my bible stuff."

Well, would surprises never cease? Spencer had been sure he'd have to go into a bit of an explanation on what a nephilim was. He hadn't counted on Dean already knowing. It looked like he'd underestimated the man. _I wonder how many people have made that fatal mistake before?_ He thought with bemusement. A bit of his temper faded away and he actually managed to summon up a small half-smile. "Aren't you just full of surprises, Winchester. You're smarter than you look."

"Bite me." Dean shot back.

That just made Spencer's smile grow into a full one. "You're not my type. Besides, I doubt your angel would be too pleased. They tend to be a bit proprietary about that kind of thing."

He couldn't help but let out a delighted laugh as Dean stammered and sputtered at that. Satisfied with his reaction, Spencer turned back towards Bobby, ignoring the rest of the room for a moment so that he could focus fully on his friend. For a long beat the two men just stared at one another without saying a word. When Spencer finally broke the silence, his voice was calm and steady. "If I can find a way to keep it hidden from the Host, I'm coming back here." That wasn't a question, wasn't even a statement. It was a promise.

Bobby waited a beat and then nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"Good." It wasn't the best solution, but it was one they could both live with, and it gave Bobby hope. Maybe that was cruel considering there was no way of knowing whether or not Spencer would ever be able to come through. Some hope was better than none, though. And he _would _heal Bobby. The young genius made himself a silent promise in that moment. If, in six months, he hadn't found anything, he would either go and ask his father for the first real favor of his life, or he would heal Bobby himself and deal with the consequences. He owed Bobby far too much to just not help him.

With that settled, Spencer turned back to the brothers who were now standing by the sink arguing in low tones. Their voices were low, pitched not to be heard, but Spencer heard them anyways. "…another secret, Sam?" Dean was growling.

Sam looked both frustrated and tired. He lifted a hand and ran it through already messy hair. "It was hard enough to get you to keep your mouth shut about him when you thought he was just another angel, Dean. The last thing we needed was you going and telling Cas you know a nephilim. They're forbidden, Dean, and you know what Heaven's going to want to do. They'll want to kill him!"

"You ever think that maybe there's a reason for that?"

"So you're telling me you're okay with killing the guy who's been Bobby's friend for _years_ and who's done nothing but be helpful towards us. You find out he's half angel instead of full and suddenly he's dangerous, huh? Or is it just the fact that I trust him that makes him dangerous?"

"You're not exactly known for making good friends now are you?"

That was enough. Sam looked like he'd just been slapped and Spencer couldn't just stand back and watch that. He pushed down his own tiredness, the feeling in him that was reminding him he was barely out of the hospital and should, in fact, be back in bed—probably back on oxygen, if he was being honest—and he marched forward, right up to Sam's side. "That is enough." He said firmly. He didn't look at Dean, not quite sure what would come out of his mouth if he looked at the hunter right now. Instead, he focused on Sam, looking right at him as he called back "Bobby, I suggest you talk to Dean. I'm not going to continue to be as polite as I have been." Then he reached out, curling his fingers around Sam's bicep. "We need to talk, Sam. Hang on." And with no more warning than that, he took flight.

* * *

><p>They didn't go far. Spencer just took them upstairs, to the guestroom that he often used while here. He hadn't wanted to fly too far with as tired as he felt right then and taking Sam away from here probably wasn't the smartest thing to do right now. It would only make things even more difficult for the young hunter than they already were. He could tell that Sam was thinking the same thing by the way he looked frantically around him when they landed. Spencer hurried to reassure him. "We haven't left Bobby's. I just took us upstairs."<p>

Sam's shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit. They tensed again, though, when he looked back at Spencer. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

He could see exactly what Sam thought was going to happen here. The man's thoughts were written all over his face. Hell, they were practically screaming out of him.

Spencer gave Sam's arm a brief squeeze before letting go. Then he stunned the other man completely by saying "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

"Wait…what?"

"I'm sorry, Sam." Spencer repeated. "I've got a pretty good idea of what's happened the past few days. Between your prayer and how loudly your brother thinks, I figured out quite a bit, and I am so very, very sorry. I should've been there to help you and I wasn't."

"It's okay." Sam stuffed his hands down into his pockets and rocked back just a bit. "I understand."

Spencer cut him off quickly, not wanting to hear what came next. "No, I don't think you do. I wasn't ignoring you, Sam, and I wasn't willfully staying away." Because he knew that he owed Sam an explanation, he held up his wrist, pulling back his sleeve just enough to show the hospital bracelet that still sat there. "I was in the hospital. I didn't hear any prayers you sent because I wasn't conscious." He dropped his hand back down and let his sleeve fall back into place. "If I'd heard you, I would've come. I'll always come if I'm capable. None of what happened recently is going to change that."

Shock painted Sam's face and had his eyes wide. He looked back down at Spencer's wrist and then back up at his face. "Are you okay?"

Of course that would be the one thing that Sam took from this. Leave it to him to gloss over all the rest of it and try to find out if _Spencer_ was okay. Never mind all the crap that _Sam_ was going through right now. Spencer shook his head. "I'll be fine." It was the truth. A few days rest and he'd be as good as new. "It's not important. Look, we've got about a minute before your brother comes up here, and the last thing either one of us needs is him hearing us talking and coming barging in to start a fight all over again. I just needed you to know that nothing's changed here, Sam, at least not for me. I'd understand if you were angry with me for not being there like I said I would be."

"Spencer, if you weren't _conscious_, I can't exactly blame you for that."

"And I don't blame you either." Spencer said quietly. He heard footsteps on the stairs and knew that their time was up. Reaching out one last time, he gave Sam's arm a final squeeze. "I better go. Your brother needs time to process everything he's just learned and it'd probably go better if I was far from here. Just remember, if you need me, pray to me." He let go of Sam's arm and tapped one finger on his chest. "Those fancy little sigils I can see on your ribs keep you hidden from me, but if you pray directly to me it opens up enough of a connection that I'll be able to find you. Or, if you just want to talk, call me. I always have my phone on me." The footsteps were getting closer now and Spencer gave him one last smile. Then, before his presence could cause any more trouble, he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Spencer was in the middle of the bullpen when the prayer came through. This wasn't a prayer of words so much as one of emotion mixed together with jumbled up thoughts that were so fragmented they couldn't quite make a whole. The force of it was staggering and Spencer almost hit his knees. His hand shot out in just enough time to catch himself and brace up on the desk beside him. He heard voices speaking to him but didn't catch their meaning as the aching prayer from Sam washed over him. With his free hand, Spencer cradled his head, trying to battle past the _hurt-pain-fear-guilt-want-shame_ and the _I'm sorry_ and the _Help me_ that were rolling around in there. Every inch of grace inside of him was screaming to fly out of here right now and straight to Sam.

"Reid!" A firm hand was gripping at Spencer's arm, bracing him up, and then Derek was stepping in front of him, his other hand coming up to hold at Spencer's waist like he was afraid his friend was going to fall right where he stood. The fear wasn't too far off.

Fear slithered around Spencer's insides like a snake, leaving a sick feeling in its wake, and he swore his wings were _trembling_ with the need to fly. He had to get out of here, away from everyone, to somewhere that he could safely disappear. He had to _get to Sam_. That was all Spencer could focus on. He dropped his hand away from his head and, for a moment, allowed his fingers to curl around Derek's bicep and grip there, allowing himself this brief moment to gather his strength.

"Woah there, kid." Derek murmured, his voice pitched low and careful. "Take a breath there. You look like you're about to pass out."

Spencer shuddered as another wave of emotion rolled through him. "I've got to go."

"Reid…"

"I've got to go." Spencer repeated, pulling away from Derek's hands. His friend reluctantly let go of him and Spencer hurried to move, knowing that there was a strong possibility that Derek might try to follow him, or that someone else might. He pressed one hand against his stomach to try and battle the sick feeling there and he hurried as quickly as he could away from Derek and across the bullpen. Though he could hear Derek calling out his name again, he ignored it, his steps quickening as he gained a little more control, and he was out the doors and racing down the hall before anyone managed to catch up to him. There was a place, just ahead…yes! Spencer turned to the right and spared only a second to make sure that there was no one to see him. Then he slipped into the storage closet and shut the door behind him. The minute the door was shut, he wasted no more time letting his wings go and flying away from there with all the speed he possessed, not even caring that he knocked almost everything off the shelves around him with his exit.

Only minutes had passed since Spencer had first felt the prayer yet he was terrified of what he was going to find. There had been such pain in it. Such desperation_._

His rapid flight brought Spencer to the passenger's seat of a car that was parked on the shoulder of a dark highway. When he landed, the first thing Spencer felt was relief. Sam was _alive._ Followed quickly on the heels of that was worry. While Sam was alive, he definitely wasn't okay. The hunter was bent over in the driver's seat, his hands white knuckled on the wheel and his forehead pressed to the top of the wheel. His body was shaking and for a second Spencer thought he was crying. But, no, it was shivers, full bodied shivers that were making every inch of him tremble. Spencer's grace ached at the obvious pain on someone he was coming to consider a very good friend. It showed in his voice when he murmured the man's name. "Sam."

It sent his worry even higher when Sam didn't react to the sound of his voice. He didn't even lift his head from the wheel. For a brief moment he thought that maybe his voice had been too soft to register with the other man. Then he caught just a tiny movement, a small shift behind long hair as one eye turned his direction. He heard Sam let out a soft, shuddery breath. "Hey Spencer."

"Hey Sam." Spencer murmured back, just as soft as Sam. The mood in the car called for lowered voices.

"I didn't mean to pray. I, ah, I didn't think anyone would hear me." _I didn't think anyone would come_.

Spencer heard the unspoken words behind that and his grace gave another throb. He kept that locked down, though, making sure his voice stayed steady and calm. Right now he had a feeling that Sam needed that more than anything else. "I heard. It just took me a moment to get away."

Again there was that small movement, more defined this time, as Sam rolled his head just enough to be able to look his way. "I hope I didn't take you away from something important."

"You didn't." Nothing near as important as this. He didn't say that, though. Everything about Sam's body language right now screamed just how close to the breaking point the hunter was. It wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. Spencer held in his questions, held in his fears, and focused instead on doing what he could to try and take care of his charge. "Why don't we switch places, Sam? There's a motel just up the road, about fifteen miles."

It didn't help Spencer's worry at all when the usually vocal, independent hunter gave a small, compliant nod.

A wave of his hand had the two switching places. Spencer watched from the corner of his eye as Sam didn't say a word, didn't protest, just curled himself up to rest against the door, his forehead on the glass. Spencer bit his lip to keep his words inside. _Just get him to the hotel, first. The rest can be taken care of there._ He took a steadying breath and then reached out to turn the key in the ignition.

Twenty minutes later the two men were settling into a nondescript motel room and Spencer's worry hadn't abated at all. If anything, it'd grown. Sam hadn't spoken a single word for the entire ride here, nor had he said anything when Spencer had left him in the car while he checked them in, and the silence had continued when Spencer had brought the car down close to the door of their room and then led him inside. Now Sam was just sitting there on his bed, arms wrapped around his waist, looking down at the floor like it held the answers to the world. Shivers still ran down him but Spencer knew it couldn't be from the cold. He'd turned the heat up already and it was plenty warm in here. No, those shivers were from something else entirely, and it was that something else that Spencer had to get to the bottom of if he wanted to have any chance at helping.

Spencer carefully made his way over to the other bed. It hadn't escaped his notice that even in his dazed state Sam had still automatically gone to the bed furthest from the door. Something that was so ingrained it was instinctive now. Thinking that brought Spencer attention to another fact in all this that pointed out just how wrong things were. _Where's Dean_? Was his absence the reason for all—_this_? Spencer had given Sam as much time as he could. But now, he needed to start getting some answers so that he could figure out what was going on and what he could do to try and help fix it. He just had to figure out how to do it without breaking the fragile man across from him.

The bed gave a creak when Spencer sat himself down on it. Without realizing it, he took the pose that Dean often had for moments like these, seating himself on the bed directly across from Sam, their knees almost brushing in the small space between the beds. "Sam," Spencer's voice slipped easily into that low, soothing cadence that years working at the Bureau and speaking with victims had taught to him. "Can you tell me what happened?"

The rapid headshake didn't really surprise him. He could _feel_ Sam's fear and guilt coming off of him in waves. Thoughts that were usually so sheltered were pouring out of him still and Spencer couldn't help but pick up on it even with the usual shields he kept up to keep all of that at bay. He caught Sam's guilt over whatever had happened, his fear of what it meant and what others would think, the fear that it would send Spencer away just like everything else had sent Dean away.

Spencer blew out a breath and shoved his shields up a little higher. Damn. Maybe it was the leftover remnants of what the demon blood had done to him, or maybe he'd always had some ability, but Sam usually had a tightly shielded mind compared to other humans. Right now he was projecting—_loudly_.

There was one part of all of that jumbled mess of thoughts that Spencer actually _could_ fix, though. He drew in a deep breath and steadied himself. "Sam, listen to me." Spencer leaned in, dipping his head down to catch Sam's eye. This was important. He needed to see Sam and for Sam to see him so that he could make sure the hunter understood exactly how important this was. He caught Sam's gaze and held it, letting his grace slip into his own eyes in a way he'd never let another human see and into his voice, adding that extra power to it so Sam wouldn't doubt him, so he would _know_. "Nothing you say is going to make me walk away. I told you that the last time, at Bobby's house, but maybe I didn't make myself clear enough, so let me explain this in simple terms. I like to think we've become friends, you and I. But more than that, Sam, you're my Charge." The way he said that made the capital letter very clear. "I may not be a full angel but I'm enough of one to make that much of a link between us. When we first met, I wrapped my grace around your _soul_ and pulled a very deep and very personal spell from there and I healed what damage was left behind. I've seen who you are, dark spots and all, and I still took you on as my charge and as my friend. Absolutely nothing you have to say is going to change that."

"You can't say that." Sam whispered. "You don't know."

"Then tell me."

And, surprisingly, he did. "I'm Lucifer's vessel." He blurted it out quickly, like saying it fast would make it somehow easier. He was watching Spencer's face as he said it and he saw the wince there. What's more, he saw the distinct lack of surprise. Sam wasn't stupid. He pieced it together quickly and his eyes went wide. "You knew."

Spencer fought back a wince. He wasn't going to lie, though. The thought never even occurred to him. "Yes."

Temper took the place of the pain and shock that Sam had been in. Spencer mentally cheered even as he braced himself. Temper, he could deal with. It was much better than the place Sam had been in. The hunter had his weak moments, sure, and he'd definitely earned them, but this was something that wasn't going to go away. He had to be able to meet it head on in his own mind before he'd be able to handle it out in the world with other people. He needed to deal with what he was feeling. Spencer was willing to be the outlet to that if it helped him in the long run the way that he thought it would.

He stayed sitting as Sam shot up off the other bed and paced furiously away. He reached the far end of the room and then spun back to face Spencer again. "Did you know about the rest of it, too? The seals, the blood, Lilith?" he demanded.

"I didn't know about Lilith, Sam. I had no idea that killing her would break the final seal." Spencer hurried to reassure him. He spread his hands out, body turned toward his friend. "I had no idea what Heaven had planned. The only angel I talk to is my father and we don't exactly sit around talking about the apocalypse."

"Then how'd you know…" Sam trailed off, like he couldn't quite say the words.

Spencer's gaze softened. "I told you I've seen you, dark spots and all."

All at once, Sam deflated. His eyes darkened and his shoulders slumped. "Being Satan's meatsuit, that's a pretty big dark spot."

"It doesn't change who you are, Sam. You're still _you_."

"A freak."

"If you are, then you're in good company." Spencer shot back. He could've gone the comforting route, could've told Sam that he wasn't a freak, but he knew what years of being told something could do a person's mind. He knew how easy it was to believe something after hearing it for so long and how hard it was to be convinced otherwise. Right now, in this moment, Sam wouldn't believe it if Spencer told him that he wasn't a freak. He'd heard it for too many years and gone through too many events, with this most recent one just the cherry on the sundae of crap that was tossed at him. There was no way that Spencer was going to be able to convince him that he wasn't a freak, an abomination. But maybe there was a chance he could convince him to take that title and make it his own. To see that being a freak didn't mean being _wrong._

Sam huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. "You're half angel, Spencer. I don't really think that's the bad kind of freak."

"Lucifer's an angel." People so often forgot that little fact, it seemed. "He may be known as devil, but he's not a demon. He's an angel; a fallen angel, but still an angel. Once the brightest of them all. Morning Star, Light Bringer." Tipping his head, Spencer watched Sam's face, hoping his words were sinking in. "You two aren't alike simply through your faults. Don't you think it'd make sense that the angel with the brightest grace would need a vessel with an equally bright soul? Not even the demon blood can hide that, Sam."

That shut him up. Sam looked stunned by what Spencer said. The thought probably hadn't even occurred to him.

Spencer could feel just how scattered Sam's emotions were at the moment. They'd successfully diverted his earlier shock, rode out that burst of pained anger, but he was still far too fragile right now. Too many things had happened. There was too much inside of his head and too many changes. What he needed right now wasn't to talk. He needed rest. That was something that Spencer could help with. "All of this can wait till tomorrow, Sam." Spencer said softly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. "You've had some horrible days lately. Why don't you lie down and get some sleep? Things will look better in the morning."

"I don't…" Sam looked to the bed and indecision flashed over his face.

It didn't take much for Spencer to figure out the problem. "He won't get into your dreams tonight." That much he could promise, at least for tonight. To make sure that Sam truly understood, Spencer bent down and started to untie his shoes.

His unspoken message must've gotten through. There was only a second of quiet before Sam made his way to the bathroom. Spencer silently applauded himself. He was getting the hang of speaking to these Winchesters. They were all about actions and subtext and things like that. Sam seemed more open to words, most of the time, but even then it didn't always work to come right out and say it. It was a confusing way to live. Still, Spencer knew body language and he knew how to use his to convey a message. It didn't stop him from thinking that the world would just be a better place if everyone just spoke what was on their mind, though. No games, no pretenses. It'd taken him years and years to learn that he couldn't be that open. That people didn't appreciate it. He was grateful now that he'd managed to learn. Still, there were some days that he still didn't quite manage the tact that Derek insisted he needed to practice.

By the time Sam came back out of the bathroom dressed down to his sleep clothes, Spencer had already changed himself into a pair of pajamas from home and was stretched out on the bed closest to the door, propped up against the headboard with a stack of pillows that hadn't been there before, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle.

It amused him to see Sam startle at the little changes Spencer had made while he was gone. Their beds were nicer, for one. Fresh, clean bedding, a requirement in Spencer's books. The lights had been shut off so that a single lamp lit the room, its light low. There were also salt lines that hadn't been there before in front of the door and windows. There were protection sigils up as well, though Sam couldn't see those. Spencer knew how to hide his work.

Sam looked around him and then down at the bed. He gave only a small shake of his head before he lifted the covers and climbed in. It made Spencer smile to see the man sigh down into the soft bedding.

After a bit of shifting, Sam settled in on his stomach, his head turned to face towards Spencer. His eyes drifted over Spencer, curious yet slightly hazy with the need to sleep. However, he didn't let himself drift off yet. He watched Spencer for a moment before asking "You're not going to sit up all night, are you? I mean, don't you need to sleep, too, being part human and all?"

Folding his hands over his stomach, Spencer nodded. "I do. Not as much as most, but I do. Just not tonight."

"I don't want you losing sleep because of me, Spencer."

Amusement warmed Spencer's face and curved his lips. "I'm not. There are things I need to think about and plotting that needs to be done."

"That sounds slightly ominous."

A low chuckle was his answer to that. "Goodnight, Sam."

He was pleased to hear a soft chuckle from Sam in return. "Night, Spencer."

The room fell quiet after that. Hands folded over his stomach, Spencer sat quiet and content as he listened to Sam quickly drop down into sleep. When he heard the hunter's breathing even out and knew he was finally asleep, only then did he finally let his thoughts drift. Of course the first thing they did was run over everything he'd learned tonight. There was so much new information to take in here. It changed so many things for him and left Spencer with so many questions.

There was one thing he knew, though—he couldn't just walk away. Before he'd been content to come when Sam prayed and help out here and there. But things had just gotten a whole lot more personal. Spencer didn't think he could just sit on the sidelines anymore. His job was important but this was more so. This was the _apocalypse _and right smack dab at the center of it was someone that Spencer had taken on as a charge. Someone he'd made a promise to do his best to protect. Standing on the sidelines just wasn't an option anymore. He had no idea how he was going to make this work, yet there was no other option. He wouldn't leave Sam—and by extension, Dean—to fight this alone. He wouldn't leave Bobby to fight this alone, either, because he knew that old hunter would be helping these boys out in any way possible. People Spencer cared about were involved in this. He was invested now.

Somehow he'd find a way to make it work.

Speaking of work…Spencer tried not to sigh. He knew he was going to have a lot to explain when he went back home. There were going to be questions about his rushing from the bullpen and about his sudden disappearance. They couldn't be too worried, he knew. No one had tried to call him yet. Hopefully, Derek had assumed that Spencer was going to be sick and that's why he ran away. If his friend believed that then there was a chance they'd think he just threw up for a while and went home. Either way, he was going to have to answer a lot of questions when he went back. Turning his head to look over at the other bed and the man curled up there, still shivering, Spencer knew it was worth it. He didn't regret rushing here. If he hadn't, if he'd been any later—the thought made him shudder slightly. He didn't like to think about what might've happened. The mindset that Sam had been in hadn't been a good one. It was worth the trouble he'd deal with to be here now.

Spencer shifted in place and settled himself a little more comfortably against the headboard. Later would be soon enough to deal with all that. For now, he'd concentrate on getting his friend through the night, and maybe he'd call in sick tomorrow and spend the day with Sam just to make sure that he really was going to be okay. Or, at least, as okay as he could be in a situation like this. He doubted Sam was going to be honestly okay, at least not for a while. There was too much on his shoulders now, too much guilt eating at him, for him to really all right. Spencer couldn't fix all of that for him. He couldn't take away the guilt or the pain. But, for tonight, he could grant his friend a little peace.

If anyone had looked in the room, they would've seen one man curled up asleep on one bed while another sat up against the headboard of the other, staring off at the wall. Just a normal scene like you might find anywhere. But if they happened to look in and catch a moment when the moonlight hit it just right, they might've seen the shadow of wings stretched protectively over the far bed, sheltering the man sleeping there.

* * *

><p>Come morning, things went a little differently than Spencer had planned, though he couldn't help but think they were better. Dean called—he wanted to meet up with Sam, talk to him. That was so much more than he'd been willing to offer before and Sam was beyond thrilled with it. They agreed to meet up that afternoon. It warmed Spencer to see just how much Sam lit up at this. How much of his tension faded away just knowing that he'd be back with his brother soon.<p>

Spencer still went ahead and called in sick. As he'd expected, Aaron had heard about his dash out of the bullpen yesterday and had assumed it meant he was ill, so there was no trouble in him taking the day off. Dealing with Derek wouldn't be so easy, he knew, but that was a bridge he'd cross when he came to it. For now, he had the day off. That left Spencer free to spend the rest of the day with his friend, which was perfect. He didn't intend on sticking around for the meeting with Dean; that was personal, between the brothers. But there was no harm in hanging out for the duration of the drive. It would give them a chance to talk about a few things that Spencer had come up with last night while he'd sat in bed.

Whether it was the talk they'd shared, a night of peaceful sleep, the phone call with Dean, or any combination thereof, Sam moved with quite a lot more ease today. It wasn't something Spencer was going to question. He could see the lightness in Sam's frame, in his _soul_. He took the win for what it was and didn't question it. They got the room packed up pretty quickly and Spencer headed to put Sam's bag into the car for him while Sam went and turned in the room key. By the time the hunter came back, Spencer was curled up in the passenger's seat of the car with his feet tucked up on the seat and his knees curved off to the side. He barely let Sam get into the car before telling him "Down the road three point two miles is a Starbucks. We should go there before you really get on the road."

Real humor danced into Sam's eyes and tugged ever so slightly at the corners of his lips. "Can't you just mojo yourself up a cup?"

_Mojo_. That made Spencer huff out a laugh. "If there wasn't a coffee shop around here, trust me, I would have."

"Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

Shrugging, Spencer watched absently as Sam started the car. "A bit, here and there. I told you, there were things I had to think about."

"Right. You were plotting. And how'd that work out for you?"

"Very productive, I'd like to think." There was just a hint of smug humor in those words.

Sam snuck a look at him before he backed the car out of the parking spot. "Should I be scared?"

"You? No. I'd take harm myself before allowing any to come to you." Spencer said it simply, like he was stating that the grass was green or the sun bright. He didn't give Sam time to dwell on it, either. His smile grew a little and he was almost radiating good humor. "Others, however…I make no promises."

"You're more devious than you look." Sam told him, flashing a smile as he pulled out onto the main road.

"I've been told that." Spencer said agreeably. "Morgan says it frequently. Usually after he's lost at poker." Tipping his head back to rest against the seat, better allowing him to look over at Sam, he chuckled. "You'd think he would've learned by now."

"It's always the quiet ones."

They kept up the easy, cheerful conversation while heading down to the Starbucks down the road. Spencer found himself amazed the whole way there at just how different Sam was this morning in comparison to last night. Last night there had been such grief, such _pain_, all underscored by guilt and anger and fear. Now? Now he was smiling broadly, dimples flashing, as he told Spencer some elaborate story about a hunt that had ended up with Dean being temporarily cursed so that he could only speak gibberish. He looked happy. Not to say that last night's emotions were gone; oh, no, they were still there. Spencer could feel them all right underneath the surface. Sam was just pushing them down again, locking them away in a way Spencer was intimately familiar with. He was focusing on the positive, most likely because it was the only way he was able to get up and go on with his day. If he sat and dwelled on all the negative he probably wouldn't have gotten up out of bed this morning. And who could really blame him? This was a hell of a weight he was carrying on his shoulders. Yet he was here, moving forward, doing what needed to be done. Spencer could see his thoughts on it so clearly. The world was ending, Lucifer was free and wanted to wear his meatsuit, but his brother had called him to come back, he wasn't going to be left fighting this alone, and they had one angel and one half angel on their side.

It amazed Spencer and humbled him to see Sam seek out and latch on to each positive aspect. He held them close and used them to push the dark back. There was a lot more strength in Sam than there appeared.

Once they had their coffee and were once more back out on the road, their cheerful conversation trailed off and the conversation Spencer had known was coming finally cropped up. "So," Sam cast him a quick look, eyes flickering away from the road and back again. "Did you come up with anything during your plotting?"

Spencer took a long sip off his coffee and gave a happy little hum at the flavor. No day should start off without coffee. It woke him up enough that he finally felt a little more human. That figure of speech made him snort slightly with humor. _Amusing choice of words_. He caught Sam looking at him strange and shook his head to clear out his thoughts. "Sorry." He apologized, not bothering to explain what that snort had been for. "And yes, I came up with a few things. Most are still in the early planning stages, though. Just ideas. I need to do a bit of research first. Once I know, though, you'll be the first person I come to."

"And the others?" Sam asked. At the arched look that Spencer gave him, he shrugged. "You said 'most' are still in the early planning stages. Does that mean you have others that are more thought out?"

Taking another sip of his coffee, Spencer ran through his thoughts once last time, running across each point that he'd come up with in favor of this and each one that had been against. In the end, there was only one real choice. It would come out eventually if he showed up to help Sam often enough. Best that they do it on their terms. "A few. But there's one important one. If we're going to do this, if I'm going to help, then I think it's about time you introduced me to your resident angel." And hope with everything they had that the angel didn't try to smite him the instant he realized what he was.

* * *

><p><em>The next installment in the series may take a bit before it comes up. I've got a vague outline started but I won't post it until I have a few chapters written, at least. But it shouldn't take me TOO long. Keep your eye out! And don't be afraid to commentPM to let me know anything you'd like to see happen, or maybe what you feel about any possible future pairings. Thanks again for reading this, everyone, and I hope to see you with the next story!_


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